


From The Ground Up

by starespressos



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Castiel needs a little help, Cognitive Problems, Colleagues - Freeform, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, I don't mention it but Castiel is obviously on the spectrum, M/M, Random names border on ableism, There's mature content if you squint but better safe than sorry, a bit of angst, dean is a good person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-16 04:48:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16078760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starespressos/pseuds/starespressos
Summary: Castiel and Dean work together, and Castiel has problems with his reading comprehension. Dean offers a solution.





	From The Ground Up

**Author's Note:**

> Just throwing this in to feed the fire. It's every bit as messy as Castiel's head, probably. 
> 
> Title from Dust It Off by The Dø. 
> 
> Written for the [DeanCas Smol Things challenge.](http://deancas-smolthings.tumblr.com) Uhh love you, you know that

Curling into a ball, Castiel hopes he can cease to exist for now. He’s located himself on the floor near the coffee room and he knows he’s going to have to move soon enough – people will end their meeting in a minute or two, and he can’t talk to anyone right now.

One of his friends once called _megalomaniac_ , to wish he would never run into anybody. But if he made himself smaller, he could try, right?

No use. There’s the sound of footsteps approaching him.

”Cas?”

Oh, fuck. That sounds like Dean Winchester. It’s like the universe is thinking ’how much further could this guy make a fool of himself?’ and sees a challenge.

”Are you alright?”

”’m fine,” he mutters without bothering to unwrap himself and face Dean. ”Give me a couple of minutes and I can get back to work.”

Dean takes a seat next to him. Castiel sighs heavily, hoping the man would get the point.

”I’ve got some leftover pizza,” he says thoughtfully, ”do you want me to go grab that and come to your place?”

”Is this another pity-visit? Because if so, I’d rather pass.”

”I haven’t visited out of pity,” Dean says, sounding calm and collected enough to almost make Castiel believe him.

”It’s just,” Castiel says, and his brain does the thing it sometimes does – completely blacks out on him, leaving him floating in a flow of semi-consciousness, and it’s this that finally makes him lift his head from the cage of his arms. Dean doesn’t ask him to finish his sentence, which makes Castiel’s stomach feel both concrete-heavy and feather-light.

”I know what this is,” Dean says, sighing heavily, ”you don’t want leftover pizza. Okay, you talked me over. I’m bringing new pizza and we’re gonna catch up with-”

His sentence stops short when he hears the sound of heels clacking against the floor. The meeting has ended.

”Cas,” he says quickly, ”I’ll get you your favorite.”

Castiel tilts his head, frowning. He’s not sure what Dean’s game is.

”Castiel,” Amanda says. She sounds chipper, but there’s an undertone of steel in her voice. ”What happened in there?”

”I- I didn’t know h-”

”Were the instructions not clear enough?” she asks, crouching next to him but keeping her neck straight to retain the physical upper hand here. ”I’m sorry, I should’ve probably consulted one more person before handing them over to all of you.”

”It’s not the instructions,” Castiel says slowly. He inhales to continue, but can’t, and his lungs deflate with a wheeze.

”Well, obviously I’m doing something wrong, here,” Amanda sighs, crossing her arms. ”Apparently, it has to do with inspiring my employees to achieve their best. I hired you because you’re intelligent, Castiel, and I must say I didn’t expect this to happen.”

Castiel nods and worries his lip between his teeth. He’s not able to meet Amanda’s gaze.

”Thanks, Mandy,” Dean says, and Castiel idly notices Amanda is not the only one with undercurrents in their voice here, ”Castiel is intelligent, and if you don’t have anything more to say, we should continue working.”

”That is correct,” Amanda hums and straightens. ”You have until Monday, Castiel. After that, I don’t know what to tell you.”

*

Dean is punctual. Castiel opens the door at 7pm sharp, and the smell of pizza overwhelms him. He can’t really remember when Dean learned his favorite pizza – cheese, avocado, chicken, green pesto, and mozzarella – but in the six months they’ve been working together, he’s never got it wrong. Casually, as if he’s here every other day instead of this being his third visit, he saunters into the open plan kitchen, drops the pizzas on top of the counter and proceeds to the living room.

A sense of warmth fills Castiel as he watches Dean go. No matter how many people he’s met after starting at the office, at least it looks like he’s also made a friend. Well, that might be stretching it, since Castiel can physically feel his heart try to strangle itself each time he looks at Dean – and they’re not even close enough to be called friends to begin with. If Castiel had his way, he’d never be ridiculous enough for Dean to need to make pity visits, and he’d made a move on him by now.

”I haven’t seen Season 2 of Planet Earth,” Dean hollers from the living room. ”Wanna rewatch?”

”Oh,” Castiel says, snapping back to reality, ”I didn’t know you care about nature documentaries.”

”I’ve heard a lot of good, so,” Dean shrugs.

”I didn’t know you knew I’ve already watched it, either,” Castiel mutters, much to himself now, and busies himself with taking a couple of big plates from the cupboard and slicing the pizzas. Dean takes a casual seat on the couch and turns on the mounted tv. He gives Castiel a grateful smile as he places the pizza-filled plates on the coffee table, and for the second time already, Castiel feels warm.

*

They end up having a good evening. Castiel is savvy with marine animals, and he loves that Dean wants to exploit his expertise with hundreds of questions. When they’re not talking, Castiel notices he doesn’t feel the need to say something; more often than not, his bingewatch experiences have included awkwardness and the need to try and entertain his guest at any cost. Dean seems comfortable enough, and when he grows bored, he starts dubbing the animals.

Castiel has to admit, it comes as a surprise, and he almost spits all of his freshly-sipped tea out in every direction. He looks up at Dean, who looks back, shrugs nonchalantly, and turns back to the tv to continue voicing what he thinks the whale is saying. Castiel doesn’t know what it is – the ridiculous voice Dean dubs with, or the sheer fact that this guy is absolutely shameless – but he bursts out laughing. Obviously pleased with himself, Dean doesn’t stop until Castiel’s both tired out from laughter and dubbing along with him.

Eventually, Castiel needs to pause the program to collect himself and finish his tea. He can feel Dean’s eyes on him, and after a while, he frowns.

”You’re here for a reason, aren’t you?”

Dean sighs and nods. ”I am.”

”Bring it.”

”I want you to understand that I’m not asking you this because I think you’re incapable in some way. I don’t want you to take this question the way you take the questions asked by Amanda, or by someone else on the board of directors, because this is coming from a different place altogether.”

Castiel exhales with a sharp huff. ”Right.”

Dean shoots an apologetic look at him, but refuses to back down. ”I’m worried about you as a colleague, and a friend. I have no idea what’s going on, only that you’ve been getting in crosshairs for a while now, and it has something to do with the law changing, and it’s just a basic protocol law that should have nothing to do with your everyday life and-”

”Hey,” Castiel stops him. ”Before you speculate further, I…”

He looks at Dean and sees nothing but acceptance and confusion. As much as Castiel would like to pretend everything’s fine, he needs to vent – and having a colleague actually wanting to hear him out could be a blessing in disguise.

”This is confidential. You may not tell anyone what you hear here,” he says then, and Dean nods, mouthing an ’of course’. ”I… I haven’t read the policy Amanda gave us weeks ago. That’s why I can’t give feedback, or suggestions, or whatever they are wishing to achieve with the template webpages. I can’t meet my quota, I failed the bi-monthly already, and I’m well on my way to being fired.”

”Why?” Dean asks. The lack of accusation is almost intoxicating.

”I know Amanda hired me because of my reputation, but when I was an entrepreneur, all my work was creative. I had my own employees to take care of the legislative issues. Now, I’m one of the many, and while I’m pleased to get away from the burnout-inducing stress of owning a company, I need to read these things, and,” Castiel sighs, ”I can’t. I am an avid reader of things that interest me, which is mostly marine biology and science fiction. And of course, bettering myself in my work field also interests me, as it should; but it’s the fact that I need to remember these things afterwards that make it impossible for me to focus. I can read it a thousand times and not understand a word. I can return to review points of it, and physically stare at the words, and not understand them. They could be in Latin, except that I can understand some.”

Dean nods, but he’s silent and Castiel knows he needs to get all of this out now, or he never will.

”And it helps if someone clarifies it for me. It works as a confirmation that I’ve understood correctly, that someone else has read it the same way I did. And before you can get to blame me for not taking responsibility of my own actions and understanding, trust me, you’re late to that train.”

”What?” Dean blinks. ”Didn’t even think to.”

Castiel blushes. He’s too used to being treated like he’s lazy, and his gut reaction is to defend himself.

”Sorry,” he breathes. ”I’m… I am constantly struggling between thinking that people are too harsh, and that I can’t expect the whole world to accommodate itself around me. Nobody owes me clarifications or explanations. I need to try harder. Then, I get angry and stressed out and frustrated, and I am angry at all of those people who just manage easy talking and easy reading.”

”I get that,” Dean says. He opens his mouth to say something else, but Castiel’s way too agitated to stop talking now. Why is it always either-or with him? Either his brain shuts out or he rambles on forever.

”It makes me physically sick to try to force it down again and again. It makes me develop a migraine, and nausea, and an anxiety attack, to name a few, but I can’t afford it to matter, because I’m impossible when it comes to people to begin with. I mean, when they decided who’ll get to go to the IT fair in a couple of weeks, I instantly thought they didn’t pick me because of this, because I’m way too difficult to deal with, and because overall I talk either too much or too little, and it’s of the wrong topics, and Dean, I’m not sure I’m able to deal with all of this, and it makes me feel so left out in the whole fucking world—”

Dean places his hand on Castiel’s forearm and gives it a little squeeze. Castiel’s whole existence leans into the touch, and it grounds him.

”Have you tried talking to Amanda or someone else about this?”

“Well, law change isn’t the first time I’m in trouble. The first time it happened, I talked to Becky, because she’s a board member and an associate I already knew before coming here. She gave a bulletin about the issue, but it was ignored. I thought I was too demanding.”

“Right. So, uh, have you had your cognitive abilities tested, ever?”

“Yes,” Castiel says, “and they found nothing. When I was younger, I performed really well. I guess that’s why… I never learned to read the documents and books that were mandatory. It was enough to listen in class. It’s excruciating to have that sense of self, one that you’ve built since you were a child, destroyed. I know it’s foolish, because I know what it sounds like, and a lot of people have it worse, and I’m just-“

“Hey, there, okay,” Dean says, worry knitting his brows together, “I’m gonna have to stop you there. I’ll listen as long as you want to keep on talking, but when it comes to self-deprecating remarks and comparing yourself to hypothetical people you don’t even know, I’m stopping you. Sound okay?”

Castiel nods, biting his lip. He wants to apologize, and it takes all of his strength to keep it in; he doesn’t want to venture there, not when he’s sure Dean wouldn’t see that as a good thing.

“I need you to know that all of this makes sense to me. I’ve never been effortlessly smart, so I’ve had to read a lot of books I didn’t want to. I know how to do that stuff, but it doesn’t mean I couldn’t understand your situation.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel says almost silently, and he needs to bite his cheek now to keep from crying. He wants to both hug Dean and drive him away. It’s conflicting and confusing.

“So. What can I do?”

What?

“What?”

“What can I do for you? Do you want me to go talk to these people? Do you want me to do some of your work?”

“No, wait, what are you –” Castiel doesn’t even know what he’s asking – it doesn’t make any sense. But Dean’s eyes are earnest and almost wondrous; he’s waiting for Castiel to reply as if he’s an equal in a conversation. Which, Castiel realizes, he actually might be. Dean’s never seen him as something less even though Castiel doesn’t make small talk in the coffee room, or that he never goes out with his colleagues, or that the only thing he’s successful at is remembering Latin names of marine animals (and the table of elements).

“I would love for this to happen without any drama,” he says finally, “I don’t want to make things more complicated for people.”

“But you’ll let me help, right? Not that you need help, per se, because there’s nothing wrong with you, but—”

“Let’s face it, Dean,” Castiel hums, “I do need help.”

“Right,” Dean smiles. It’s infectious, even though Castiel doesn’t really feel like smiling… At least, not yet. “I just meant that if I volunteer myself as a tribute here, then I’m prepared that it’ll get complicated before it gets easier.”

“Why would you do that?”

For a second, Dean is out of his element – he looks around, wondering what to say. Eventually, way too late for it to be smooth, he comes up with a reply.

“Because I like helping people.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “I’ll take it.”

“So, you said you need someone to clarify the bullet points for you, right? Then I’ll become your bullet point guy.”

“You’d do that?”

Dean pats Castiel on the shoulder. “I think we’ve established that I would by now.”

Castiel nods, and for a moment, they just look at each other. Castiel’s not good at reading social cues, but he’s pretty sure he understands what it means when Dean’s eyes suddenly flicker over to his lips and back again.

Too nervous to think straight (and with a heart still on a self-strangling mission), he gets up. “Right. Okay. It’s, uh, it’s getting late. I think we should call it a night and, umm, see you tomorrow at work.”

*

Castiel thought his nerves getting the best of him would cost him Dean’s help, and he’s happy to be proven wrong.

When he gets to work the next day, there’s a tiny origami boat on his desk. It’s bold, almost neon pink, and has a star drawn on the sail of it. Castiel looks around and sees the top of his colleagues’ heads in the open concept office space. They’re all focused on their own work, keyboard chattering, and so he takes a seat on his saddle stool and spins halfway around.

There’s a sentence written in the paper, once the tiny dinghy is all straightened out.

_This law doesn’t take away your right to decide how much privacy you want._

There’s a person drawn here; one happily sitting inside of a cardboard box that says ‘for my eyes only’. Castiel looks at the paper, turns it around, looks at it again, flips it upside-down, and smiles. Everything from the writing to the drawing has Dean’s name written all over it, and the fact that the guy is patient enough to do tiny origami boats makes Castiel almost weak in the knees – ridiculous, hell yes, but also an overwhelmingly good feeling to have.

So, is this how it’s going to be? Dean leaving boats on Castiel’s desk in the morning until Monday? It sounds perfect, because when bullet points are given to him like this, he’ll never forget them (and that might be not only the creative way to deliver them, but also _who_ delivers them). Still, a bubble of worry rises in his chest as well; there’s not enough time. It’s only Wednesday now, and even if he worked Saturday, that’d only leave a couple of days and messages.

*

Turns out, he worries over nothing, because Dean has this under control. As Castiel takes his first coffee break of the day, he’s surprised with a little origami star in his coffee cup. It unwraps into a long strip of paper with another sentence, this one with a drawing of a seemingly random airplane. Castiel reads it a couple of times and pockets it, drinking his coffee with a smile on his face.

The next one, placed on his desk during lunch hour, is another boat, this with ‘vacation!’ written on its hull. When Castiel opens it, he’s briefly punched off his feet; he takes a quick seat on the stool, unable to believe what he’s witnessing with is eyes.

It reads _I really like your smile._

It’s, by a landslide, the biggest compliment Castiel has received in ages.

*

He receives two more during the day – a tiny aircraft and an even tinier fish – and when he gets home, he puts them all on his refrigerator door with magnets. Four pieces of info and an infuriatingly sweet compliment is not a bad haul for the day, but looking at them makes Castiel itch for something. He’s not even sure what it is, but it gets worse when he sits down on his couch and eats leftover pizza.

*

The next day passes pretty much the same. This time, the one tagged ‘vacation!’ is the last one; a beautiful, delicate, small swan in light blue.

_I’m stealing these papers from the supply closet. Was trying to find one colored like your eyes, but it’s impossible, because these fuckers are real dull and your eyes make me want to write poetry._

_I really like your eyes._

Castiel needs to firmly fold the paper in half and look into the distance to regain his consciousness. Then, he picks up his phone, opens his conversation with Dean (they’ve last been talking about pizza) and rips small pieces of skin off the inside of his lower lip out of nervousness.

He doesn’t know what to say, so he closes the conversation with a groan. It makes him feel empty.

*

Friday starts off like shit. During coffee break, some of Castiel’s colleagues are talking about the upcoming fair and how excited they are to go. They’re putting up a display of the company with some simple programming shows for people to come look at and try out for themselves, and it’s right up Castiel’s alley. He knows this stuff, he’s aching to be included, but instead he keeps his silence and drinks his coffee by his table. He needs to plan for Monday, after all.

He makes good progress during the afternoon, even though he’s distracted by the tiny origami pieces that keep on appearing on his path. To make sure they’ve all learned what the new law means, Amanda came up with a task for them; they all needed to build a simple webpage with additions that accommodate the changes. She said it was a clever idea, and that it’d be fun for them to think about something else than mundane B2B programming.

Little did she know…

It pretty much keeps on going downhill all day. At some point, Castiel is met by a new decorative painting that says, in bright, bold, cursive letters; “If at first you don’t succeed, try reading the instructions”. A smiley is drawn at the end of the quote, and Castiel feels it’s a personal attack.

It gets a little better when the vacation boat is found in his coat pocket. He notices it only when he’s standing in a crowded bus, on his way home, and this time he decides to read it when he’s home – he can’t risk losing his stance in public transport. It would be awfully embarrassing.

Castiel makes it all the way through his living room, coat on and all, before he unwraps the boat. 

_I’m realizing I might be an asshole. Could you call me?_

Worry burrows itself inside Castiel’s stomach, and with shaky hands, he dials Dean. He answers instantly, as if he’s been waiting by the phone.

“Hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean. What’s… What’s up?”

“Are you home yet?”

“Yes. Uh, yeah, I am. I just- wait a second, let me take my coat off.”

It’s stalling, for sure. Castiel has no idea what to expect, and Dean sounds worried.

“Okay, I’m here.”

“Cas, I need to apologize for something.”

Castiel’s first thought is _please don’t apologize for the vacation origamis._

“I’m listening.”

“I should’ve told you earlier that… Shit, this is hard. Talking aloud is a lot harder than writing, you know?”

“I know,” Castiel says seriously, and Dean laughs.

“Right, so. There’s a reason I wanted to help you, and no matter what your reaction is to what I’m about to tell you, I’m going to keep on doing that. This is not a thing I wanted to do to get something out of this, you know? I just… I care about you.”

There’s a moment of silence, and things start clicking into place in Castiel’s head. He looks at the small origami sheets on his refrigerator and thinks about the vacation ones – and it makes a little, tiny bit of sense that Dean is nervous.

Could he want to express his interest in Castiel? It feels overwhelming to even think about, but there’s a part of Castiel’s brain that really wants this; he really needs to not feel like he’s not going to choke when he sees Dean, or touches him, or leaves him tiny pieces of a lifeline.

“Uh, so, anyway,” Dean goes on. “I’ve actually been thinking about something for a while now. And, uh. One of the reasons I offered my help was…”

There’s a pause on the line.

“You’re a really good person, Castiel, and one of the most talented and creative people I’ve ever met when it comes to programming. I’m planning to start a business with a friend, and I know it might sound like a lot since you just got out of a stressful situation, but I want you on my team. As an executive programmer, or a creative leader-designer, or anything that gives you your freedom to create and not stress about the fucking law.”

Castiel feels his lungs deflate. It’s… well. Wow. He’s so embarrassed by his previous line of thought that he needs to take a seat on the couch and hide his face behind the fingers of his free hand. Shit, that was close.

Why did he even assume Dean would want something like that? What a fucking self-righteous piece of shit does that?

He realizes there’s plenty of time to hate himself later, since Dean coughs awkwardly on the line. Right. Castiel needs to give an answer.

“So you’ve been helping me so you’d get an employee out of me?”

Dean sighs. “Cas, I swear it’s not that. I just want to help you manage until we’re good to start.”

“Right,” Castiel says.

“What can I do to make you believe me? I really want you to-“

“Dean, I know. I know that wasn’t your reason to help. It wouldn’t make sense, either. Why help me learn this stuff if I don’t have to care about it when I’m working for you?”

Dean exhales sharply. “Is that a yes?”

Castiel rolls his eyes fondly. “Yes, it’s a yes. As long as you compensate me.”

“Oh, of course. We’ve got a good capital situation here. I need you to meet the friend, because she’s awesome, and we’re best friends.”

There it is – the emptiness again. It’s knowing Castiel will never be as close to Dean as he wants to be, and Dean is never going to talk about him as excitedly as he talks about this friend of his.

“Sure. Let’s meet up after Monday. I need all my focus on that.”

“Hey, what’s wrong? Your voice changed just now.”

Castiel frowns. How the hell did Dean pick up on that? Sure, there’s a lump in his throat due to the need to just yell all of his pent-up stress and inadequateness away, but hearing that through the phone needs some serious skill.

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing if that’s your tone right now. You sound like you did back when you needed to exit the meeting. Did I say something wrong?”

“No, it’s nothing. You offering me a job was something I didn’t expect out of this phone call.”

A beat of silence, then, “What did you expect?”

“It’s nothing of importance.”

“Seems to me like I’m nailing the hammer right on the head here. What is it?”

Castiel groans and presses his eyes shut. Is this going to haunt them forever if he doesn’t come clean now? It probably is.

“I thought your subject would be closer to the things you wrote in the other vacation notes.”

Silence.

Silence.

A click on the line, and for a second, Castiel thinks the thought is appalling enough to make Dean hang up on him.

“A bit closer, as in me being interested in dating you?”

Dean’s voice is hoarse. Castiel has no idea what it means.

“Something like that, yes.”

“Right, uh, you know what,” Dean starts, and Castiel wants to stop him, tell him it’s okay, and forget about it, but Dean continues with, “sit tight. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

*

Dean is punctual. He knocks on the door fifteen minutes later. Castiel opens the door hoping that the can of Coke he has in his hands would be beer instead.

“Hi,” he says, frowning to hide how nervous he is.

“Hey,” Dean says with a smile, and there’s a glint of joy in his eyes. Castiel is confused by his out-of-place happiness until he reaches down to his pocket. “Give me your hand, palm up.”

Castiel obliges. Dean drops a tiny origami crane on it, one that says ‘vacation’ on the beak. Slowly, Castiel opens it.

_Your laugh is the most contagious thing and I can’t stop thinking about when you ended up dubbing animals with me._

_I really like your laugh._

Castiel huffs and gestures Dean to step inside. When they’re both in the kitchen, Dean gives him another origami – a different kind of star than before.

_I wish these helped you as much as I want them to. I would do anything to make this job, or this town, or this world a little bit more accommodating to your needs._

“I’m, uh,” Dean says, his voice quiet, “I noticed I couldn’t stop writing them after I started.”

Another crane, a heart, is dropped in Castiel’s hands.

_I’ve had this enormous crush on you since we first met and you talked about algae._

_I’d always listen to you speak, no matter how long you ramble on, or how trivial the topic may be. I wish you’d never lose your spark because some people are dicks._

Castiel lets out something between a gasp and a sigh and looks up at Dean, who’s nervous, swinging himself to the balls of his feet and back again, and ready to run any second. Castiel collects all of his courage and walks up to him, wraps one of his hands around Dean’s waist and presses the other against his cheek.

“Permission to kiss you, origamist?”

Dean whimpers and nods. “Please, fucking, please yes.”

Castiel presses his lips against Dean’s – just staying there for a second, to familiarize them with the feeling and the proximity. After a second or two, it’s suddenly not nearly enough and Castiel presses Dean’s back against the refrigerator for leverage. Dean happily lets himself be handled like this, moaning into Castiel’s mouth and opening his lips for better entrance. His hands wind up on Castiel’s hips, pulling him closer to feel all of him at once, and they both gasp at the feeling of things turning from hot to absolutely fucking scolding in a split second.

*

During the weekend, they finish Planet Earth while making tiny origami boats together. They make out like teenagers who just learned what lips are best used for, and more than once, they end up grinding against each other on the couch, happy to let to know each other and map out each other’s bodies with their fingers and tongues.

Also, they both call in sick on Monday.


End file.
